The Beamy Golden Sunlight Rays of Angst
by Vendetta Vertigo
Summary: A beautiful, talented, and beautiful new dancer comes to the Opera Populaire. Can Erik resist her womanly charms? I'll give you a hint: no. ErikOC xCOMPLETE!x
1. Divine Presence

Erik sat forlornly in his lair, playing with his organ. Pardon me, playing ON his organ. He missed Christine so so so so so so so so much it felt like a large rabid dog had ripped out his intestines, chewed on them for hours, thrown them under a passing horse, and used them in a modern art installation before shoving them back down Erik's throat. He knew he could never, ever love anyone else ever ever again. Unless, of course, she was really pretty with a heart of gold and a singing voice to match.

* * *

A carriage pulled up to the Opera Populaire in Paris, and out stepped a young woman. She was so beautiful, a whole paragraph will be devoted to describing her.

Her hair was like beautiful, golden strands of dead cells grown through the scalp. Her clear, green orbs shone with excitement. She had lost her real eyes in a tragic accident the year before involving a goat intended for Satanic sacrifice and an old shoe. Her dress was the height of fashion, and it emphasized her perfect hourglass figure. Many people thought it was strange that her body consisted of two opposing triangles, but what did they know? She was absolutely beautiful. Her huge, green orbs took up the half of her face that weren't consumed by her lush, pillowy, perfectly red lips. Her nose was so tiny and perfect that at first glance one would miss it.

The girl stepped out and sighed. It was so difficult leaving her darling Maman and Papa to come pursue a life as a dancer in the famous Opera Populaire, but it had always been her dream. Her real goal was to sing.

She entered the operahouse, where a rehearsal was going on. Everyone stopped to stare at her perfectly-proportioned beauty. Several of the chorus girls hanged themselves upon seeing her, knowing that they could never hope to be as beautiful or graceful as she. Madame Giry curtsied deeply, as did the girl.

"I assume you are the new dancer?" she said in French. Because they're in France, and that's what they speak there.

The girl's brow furrowed in confusion. Didn't everyone speak English nowadays? Madame Giry sighed and repeated her question in heavily-accented English. The girl nodded, and spoke. At the sound of her voice, which was as beautiful as fenceposts covered in snow on a sunny July day in February, another dancer impaled herself on the tusk of a prop elephant.

"Yes, yes I am. My name is Marie-Suzette. I am here to be a dancer."


	2. Christine Who?

Erik suddenly heard something. It sounded like an angel was singing. Not that he knew how that would sound, considering he was a MONSTER DAMNED FOREVER TO BE DAMNED AND LONELY AND WITHOUT CHRISTIIIIIIINE. Erik sniffed and stroked his organ morosely. But he heard the voice again. If he strained, he could hear the lyrics, even through five stories, a lake, and god knows what else. 

_Every night in my dreams I see you.  
I feel you.  
That is how I know you go on._

_Far across the distance  
And spaces between us  
You have come to show you go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are  
I believe that the heart does go on  
Once more you open the door  
And you're here in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on_

_Love can touch us one time  
And last for a lifetime  
And never go till we're one  
And if you're still reading this I'm impressed_

_Love was when I loved you  
One true time  
I hold to  
In my life we'll always go on_

_Near, far, wherever you are  
I believe that the heart does go on  
Once more you open the door  
And you're here in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on_

_There is some love that will not go away_

_You're here, there's nothing I fear,  
And I know that my heart will go on  
We'll stay forever this way  
You are safe in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on_

Upstairs in the house, everyone who wasn't currently hanging from the stage ceiling or impaled on an elephant tusk-- so, six people-- applauded wildly. Marie-Suzette blushed fetchingly and curtsied.

"Wonderful! Marvelous! Brilliant!" shouted Madame Giry. "You shall be our new star and have Christine's old dressing room!"

Listening to this underneath his lair, Erik's brow furrowed. Christine? Christine who?


	3. Bring Me To Life

Later that night, Marie-Suzette sat in front of the mirror in her new dressing room with her brush in hand, which she now proceeded to use. On her beautiful radiant marvelous dazzling glorious I got a thesaurus for my birthday magnificent glowing golden tresses. As she brushed her effulgent locks, she began to sing. 

_How can you see into my eyes  
Like open doors.  
Leading you down into my core  
Where I've become so numb.  
Without a soul  
My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back home._

She began to cry at the all-around deepness of her soul and the lyrics that were spontaneously coming out of her mouth. Ordinarily, the dancers and other assorted members of the company would ritually murder anyone who kept them up-- after all, rehearsals started at five in the morning-- but Marie-Suzette was different. In a very, very beautiful way.

Someone else was listening to the gorgeous flowing words emenating from her oral orifice. That someone was Erik. He crouched in the passageway outside Marie-Suzette's mirror, watching her in a way that was not at all creepy or stalkerish. He longed to take her away, lead her down this pathway lined with arms holding candlelabras, down a lot of stairs, to a horse, down more stairs, across a lake, to his lair. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He burst out,

_All this time I can't believe I couldn't see  
Kept in the dark but you were there in front of me_

Marie-Suzette looked up, surprised, but continued with Amy Lee's part. I mean, the spontaneous song she was singing.

_I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems  
Got to open my eyes to everything_

They kept singing, their dazzling voices bringing the song to a hard-rockin', guitar-poundin' climax. The invisible orchestra accompanying their duet got quite a workout. Finally, after the final "Bring me to life", Marie-Suzette put her brush down reluctantly.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice as soft and demure as a dozen mute and blind kittens.

"I am your angel of music," Erik began singing softly. Marie-Suzette looked into the mirror sharply.

"Don't you start that shit again," she said. "I know you got into Christine's corset with that, but it's going to take a lot more to woo my sassy spirit."

Erik was stunned. "Um. Er... well then..."

"OH ERIK! TAKE ME NOW!" moaned Marie-Suzette, throwing herself against the mirror. She broke through it, landing in Erik's lap. A shard of glass cut her pretty brow, not enough to disfigure it, just enough to leave a pretty scar. "Oh Erik..." she murmured, just before falling into unconsciousness.


	4. Speak English, Meg

First of all: I hate to break the satirical "fourth wall", but: wow. Thank you so much for all the reviews. I was barely expecting three, but thirteen? That totally blew me away.

And now, disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, but I wish I did, because oooooomg Gerard Butler is TEH SEX and it's sooooo obvious that Gaston Whatever wrote the book with him in mind. Also, Emmy Rossum needs to DIE, because GERRY IS MINE, WHORE!1 If only I could meet him, I know he would totally fall in love with me.

…oh, you want the story? Hokay.

Marie-Suzette woke slowly. She yawned and stretched attractively. Somewhere nearby, the serene music of an organ floated into the funnel of her ear, through the ear canal, and past the delicate bones of her ear to her brain, where it resonated pleasantly. She smiled, revealing her stunning teeth, which shone so brightly that the whole lair was illuminated with gleaming white light. Erik looked up from his organ brightly. She must be awake. He rushed over to her.

"Are you alright, Snookie Bear?" he asked in his halting English, sitting beside her. Marie-Suzette glared at him.

"How dare you kidnap me and bring me down here!" she snarled. Erik was puzzled. He looked a little like a puppy who was being petted and hit with a newspaper simultaneously.

"But—I zought you said—"

"I don't care what I said," Marie-Suzette said tearfully, her huge, beautiful green orbs filling up. "I'm a lady! I have my morals! Get me out of here this INSTANT! I have to sing in the opera tonight!"

Erik only understood about half of the sentence; his grasp of English wasn't so good. He got the idea of it, though.

"Of course. I shall take you back."

Marie-Suzette turned away, her luxurious golden curls covering her snooty expression. How dare this deformed monster, no matter how darkly sexy he was, touch her? Later, up in her dressing room, she reflected on his sinister attraction.

"Meg… I have a problem," she confided to her new best friend. Meg nodded, concerned about her friend's well-being, not caring at all that she had been delegated, once again, the role of sidekick.

"_Quest-ce que c'est_?" asked. Marie-Suzette rolled her eyes.

"English, Meg. You know I can't understand that." Meg sighed.

"What ees eet?"

"It's the Opera Ghost." Meg gasped, and Marie-Suzette continued. "He's been… following me. He kidnapped me brutally and took me down to his lair. And today… he sent me this." Marie-Suzette tossed an envelope at Meg. The seal, a wax skull, was broken. Meg took it out.

_Ma cherie,_

_Je t'aime beaucoup. Ton musique est de les anges. Tu est plus jolie de tout les femmes de Paris. Je tu regarder ce soir. Bonne chance._

_Ton servant fidel,_

Fantome de l'Opera 

"Oh my…" said Meg. "You are right. Zees ees bad." Marie-Suzette's eyes widened in an attractive way.

"It is? I don't know what it says," she said. Meg smiled gently. She found her friend's unwillingness to learn French to be endearing, rather than ignorant and stubborn.

"Eet says: My dear. I luff you very much. Your museek is of zee ahngels. You are more byootiful zen all of zee girls in Paris. I weel be watching you tonight. Good luck. Your faithful servant, Opera Ghost."

Marie-Suzette groaned. It was a very ladylike groan.

"Why won't this sinister, mysteriously handsome man leave me alone?"

"Wait, zere ees more," said Meg. "'e would laik to take you on as 'ees student."

"Ees what?"

"_Hees student_," enunciated Meg. "For seenging."

"Oh. Oh!" exclaimed Marie-Suzette. "What nerve he has! I only met him yesterday!"

"Did you say anyzing? To… lead 'im on?"

Marie-Suzette stood abruptly.

"Of course not! What do you think I am, some kind of brazen strumpet?" She sneered. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready to perform in the opera that I was only cast in yesterday and opens tonight."


	5. Lady Marmalade

Note before we begin: Some people seemed confused about why Meg wasn't annoyed at Marie-Suzette's reluctance to learn French. I think you'll find that many "original characters" have annoying qualities that others think are endearing. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews again. I appreciate every single one.

* * *

Marie-Suzette returned to her dressing room after the opera. There were very few casualties, though one of the dancers set herself on fire, which was needlessly messy. As soon as she opened the door, roses began flooding out. She fought to keep afloat in the sea of roses. 

"Wow," she gasped, clearing a path into the room, "They must really like me." Her green gaze fell on an envelope sealed with a skull, and she groaned. "Oh, great, it's my stalker," she said loudly, mostly for the benifit of the chorus girls passing by. She might as well not have said anything, none of them spoke English. Once she closed the door, however, she clutched the letter to her perfect chest and sighed. She ripped it open.

Ma cherie,

Tu est tres belle. Tu a chante admirablement. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

Ton servant fidel,

Fantome de l'Opera

Marie-Suzette sighed. "Oh Opera Ghost," she said softly, her voice more beautiful than a thousand eagles on illegal drugs, "I can't continue this masquerade any longer. I've loved you since the first day I saw you. Which would be yesterday." Five stories down, Erik's ears perked up. He reluctantly removed his hands from his organ.

"Did someone say 'masquerade'?"

Marie-Suzette cleared her throat. "I said, I CAN'T CONTINUE..."

* * *

I'm away at the moment, so I don't know how frequent my updates will be. Just letting you know that I haven't forgotten about this. 


	6. Oh, Erik!

Well, I'm back, and I come bearing a new chapter. Thanks again to all the reviewers, especially the ones who did a seperate review for each chapter and offered me marriage proposals and so on. 

Also, I know my French is deplorable.

* * *

Erik led Marie-Suzette down the several miles of stairs and accross the lake to his lair. 

"What's that?" Marie-Suzette asked, pointing.

"Zat is my organ," Erik said hesitantly. Marie-Suzette smiled.

"It's so big. Can I touch it?" Erik was conflicted. He had never let anyone else touch his organ before, not even Christine. Then again, he was so in love with... with... what was her name? Erik tried to remember, after all, they'd only met two days ago. Well, whatever her name was, he was in love with her.

"Oh, Erik!" squealed Marie-Suzette suddenly, jumping on him. Erik, startled, flailed his arms madly and crashed to the ground. He struck his head on the side of the swan bed and began bleeding profusely. Marie-Suzette squealed and quickly moved off him. "Oh, Erik, what's happened to you?" Erik didn't say anything. It might have been because he was unconscious. "Oh, Erik," said Marie-Suzette tearfully, kneeling next to him and cradling his head in her lap. She ripped the hem of her skirt and used it to dab the huge, bleeding gash in Erik's head. "Don't worry, darling, I'll nurse you back to health. Oh, if only it were me! Then I could die tragically in YOUR arms rather than you bleeding to death in mine!"

Erik regained consciousness in time to hear the last. "Pardon?"

Marie Suzette jumped. "Oh, nothing, honey bear. Now, go back to sleep. Sleep is the best thing for a concussion."

* * *

Again, I apologize for the short chapters, but it's easier for me to write them that way, and easier for you to read. So, ease all around. And I might be presumptuous in saying this, but I can almost promise youa sex scene in the next chapter. Stay tuned. 


	7. The end

Erik recovered okay. It was all fine and inconsequential, despite Marie-Suzette's lack of medical knowledge. But I, your beloved author, am too lazy to finish up that particular subplot. Now, the final night of the opera was over, and Marie-Suzette descended into Erik's lair. Erik was surreptitiously touching his organ, and he jumped in surprise when she entered. She was still in her costume from the opera. He took her in his arms, and she was very surprised, considering he was by his organ just a second ago. He sniffed her neck, in a completely non-creepy way of course. She smelled of honey and candles and trees and ice cream and dust and Ethiopia and new cars and lace and solar eclipses and grass and mailboxes and tap shoes and math homework and gauze and road signs and telephones and breadboxes and rocks and innocence lost and hair and maps and cows and science teachers and sand and kites and clocks and picket fences and raptors and Home Depot and dirt and jewelry and rubbing alcohol and kittens and planetariums and golf balls and eyebrows.

"Oh Erik," she moaned, "You are my angel of music! And also possibly my dad! Have sex with me!"

Erik shrugged. "Okay."

And so they did.

"Oh, Marie-Suzette," panted Erik, two hours later. It had taken an hour and fifty-six minutes to take off her elaborate costume. "I luff you. Marry me and have my deformed babies, and together we shall be a walking advertisement for therapy."

"Oh, Erik," she gasped, "Those are the words I've been waiting to hear my whole life. Actually, for the past three—or is it four? —days. Let us run away together! Screw this stupid opera house."

"You must go and pack your things. I shall wait here. Here's a rose, in case something awful should happen to me. Which of course it won't, because that would be a terrible plot device. But hey, better safe than sorry, no?"

Marie-Suzette nodded and tucked the rose behind her ear so it highlighted her gorgeous curly locks and her stunning green orbs. She gave Erik a quick kiss on the cheek and rushed out.

* * *

When Marie-Suzette returned to her quarters, she was greeted by Meg.

"Oh, Meg, I have the most wonderful news!" she gasped. "Erik and I are running away together!"

Meg looked puzzled. "Why would you think that I would think that's good news? Are you wrong in the head?"

Marie-Suzette nodded. "Well, a little."

Meg sighed. "I hate to break it to you, sister, but there's an angry mob on their way down to his lair right now. And it's led by your viscount paramour. Rob? Ralph?"

"Raoul," Marie-Suzette corrected. "Wait… what's that about an angry mob?"

Meg repeated what she had just said. Marie-Suzette fell to her knees in anguish.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she sobbed, reaching for the rose behind her ear and cradling it like a child.

"Oh, dramatize," Meg muttered. "You know, I'm sure you could get down there in time to save him. They're not really that organized. If you leave now—"

"NO!" sobbed Marie-Suzette. "It's too late!"

"But they haven't even left yet. You have plenty of time…"

"IT'S TOO LATE!"

"They don't even have torches. All they have are lit matches. And they have salad forks instead of pitchforks."

Marie-Suzette stopped her wailing to glower at Meg.

"What part of 'too late' don't you understand?"

* * *

Eventually, the angry mob made it down to Erik's lair. Raoul stepped out of the boat.

"PHANTOM!" he shouted in a manly voice. "Show yourself! It is I, Raoul!" He struck a heroic pose. Erik looked up in befuddlement. Here he was, naked in his lair, minding his own business, and here comes an angry mob bursting in without even knocking. The rudeness of some people.

"What do you want, Raoul?" he sighed, pulling on Marie-Suzette's costume.

"I have come—" here he paused dramatically. "To kill you!"

"First can you help me with this?" asked Erik, gesturing to the costume. "These corset lacings are a bitch and a half."

"Oh, of course," said Raoul, sheathing his sword and going over to help him. He pulled on the laces, and saw Erik's smooth, supple skin pucker with the movement.

"Oh, Erik…" Raoul's voice came out in a breathy murmur. Erik turned his big, limpid, golden eyes towards Raoul.

"Raoul, I… I never realized how handsome you are."

"Yes, I am," murmured Raoul, turning Erik around to face him. He drew him close. "Be mine forever,"

"But darling," Erik murmured, his lips inches from Raoul's, "you know this can never be."

"Why not?" asked Raoul, burning to close the gap between their faces.

"Because this isn't slashfic. We both want what's-her-face, remember?"

Raoul pulled back.

"Oh. Yes. I suppose you're right. Well." He turned back to the angry mob, who was watching this exchange with interest. "Shall we get on with it then?"

* * *

Marie Suzette entered Erik's lair as soon as she saw the angry mob leave. Erik was lying dead on the floor. She rushed over to him with a sob.

"Oh, Erik," she moaned passionately, "You were the only man I ever loved. I'll never love again, ever, ever, ever!" She looked up. "Now where did Raoul go?"

* * *

THE END!

I would like to thank ALL my reviewers, every last one of you, for reviewing it; Gaston Leroux for writing the story; Andrew Lloyd Webber for fucking it up; and… the goldfish I had when I was three.


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